U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [187]
curtain of rain; the spray in his face felt almost cool. The man who said his name was Jones sidled up to him hold-ing out a cigarette. "How did you like it in the navy?" Joe took the cigarette, lit it and said, "Not so good."
"I've been friends with lots of navy boys . . . I sup-pose you liked raising cain on shore leave, didn't you?" Joe said he didn't usual y have much pay to raise cain with, used to play bal sometimes, that wasn't so bad.
"But, Slim, I thought sailors didn't care what they did when they got in port." "I guess some of the boys try to paint the town red, but they don't usual y have enough jack to get very far." "Maybe you and I can paint the town red in Port of Spain, Slim." Joe shook his head. "No, I gotta go back on board ship."
The rain increased til the tin roof roared so Joe
-23-couldn't hear what the man who said his name was Jones was trying to say, then slackened and stopped entirely.
"Wel , at least you come up to my room in the hotel, Slim, and we'l have a couple of drinks. Nobody knows me
here. I can do anything I like." "I'd like to see the sports page of that paper from home if you don't mind." They got into the car and rode back to town along roads brimmed with water like canals. The sun came out hot and everything was in a blue steam. It was late afternoon. The streets of the town were crowded; hindoos with
turbans, chinks in natty Hart Schaffner and Marx
clothes, redfaced white men dressed in white, raggedy shines of al colors. Joe felt uncomfortable going through the lobby of the hotel in his dungarees, pretty wet at that, and he needed a shave. The man who said his name was Jones put his arm over his shoulders going up the stairs. His room was big with tal narrow shuttered windows and smelt of bay rum. "My, but I'm hot and wet," he said. "I'm going to take a shower . . . but first we'd better ring for a couple of gin fizzes. . . . Don't you want to take your clothes off and take it easy? His skin's about as much clothes as a fel ow can stand in this weather." Joe shook his head,
"They stink too much," he said. "Say, have you got them papers?
The hindoo servant came with the drinks while the
man who said his name was Jones was in the bathroom. Joe took the tray. There was something about the expres-sion of the hindoo's thin mouth and black eyes looking at something behind you in the room that made Joe sore. He wanted to hit the tobaccocolored bastard. The man who said his name was Jones came back looking cool in a silk bathrobe.
"Sit down, Slim, and we'l have a drink and a chat." The man ran his fingers gently over his forehead as if it ached and through his curly black hair and settled in an
-24-armchair. Joe sat down in a straight chair across the room.
"My, I think this heat would be the end of me if I stayed a week in this place. I don't see how you stand it, doing manual work and everything. You must be pretty tough!" Joe wanted to ask about the newspapers but the man
who said his name was Jones was talking again, saying how he wished he was tough, seeing the world like that-, meeting al kinds of fel ows, going to al kinds of joints, must see some funny sights, must be funny al these fel-lows bunking together al these days at sea, rough and tumble, hey? and then nights ashore, raising cain, paint-ing the town red, several fel ows with one girl. "If I was living like that, I wouldn't care what I did, no reputation to lose, no danger of somebody trying to blackmail you, only have to be careful to keep out of jail, hay? Why, Slim, I'd like to go along with you and lead a life like that."
"Yare?" said Joe.
The man who said his name was Jones rang for another drink. When the hindoo servant had gone Joe asked
again about the papers. "Honestly, Slim, I looked every-where for them. They must have been